


YOI Regency Week 2021 - Promotional Ficlets

by Linisen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/F, F/M, M/M, Regency, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29155857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linisen/pseuds/Linisen
Summary: Promotional ficlets for the fandom event YOI Regency Week 20211. Victor Nikiforov2. Yuuri Katsuki3. Mari/Sara4. Phichit Chulanont (with a tiny bit of Phichimetti)5. Minako/Celestino6. Otayuri
Relationships: Celestino Cialdini/Okukawa Minako, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Phichit Chulanont/Christophe Giacometti, Sara Crispino/Katsuki Mari
Comments: 52
Kudos: 84
Collections: YOI REGENCY WEEK





	1. Mr. Victor Nikiforov

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet collection contains promotional ficlets for YOI Regency Week 2021 which was introduced on Tumblr and Twitter last week. If you follow [this link](https://yoiregencyweek.tumblr.com/) you'll find the tumblr page for the event, as well as see art made for each ficlet. Please help vote for the promts for the week by using [this link](https://forms.gle/hKo1tKQnknfhZirc7). It's open till 1st of March. 
> 
> Hugs,  
> Lini

Victor Nikiforov was a man of many talents, as the -shire was most familiar with. He was a good businessman, tending to his land and investments with a sharp eye and careful care. Perhaps too watchful, some claimed, but rather that, than careless. He was a good rider, and was often seen taking the horse rather than the carriage when he was able. He was a talented card player, who never lost his head and bet too much, whilst still keeping focus and pleasant conversation. 

He played a good game of cricket when asked to join, and was often on the winning team from his efforts. He held good conversations with old as young, and many wished to have him at their dinner table to converse about literature as well as current events, even if he was not too much for gossip, he never jested those who were. It was clear he was an advent reader, and he was told to be good at reading sections out loud as well, with just the right amount of passion. 

He was also known to be a charmer, but not a flirt. Many had seen their hearts stolen by his handsome looks and gentlemanly behaviour. The -shier’s youth on the marriage mart were all keen on receiving his attention, and whilst Mr. Nikiforov rarely ignored them, he did not seem to be interested in anyone in particular, leaving many broken hearts in his path. 

Victor was well aware of all of this, and how the -shire saw his virtues and his stature. He was proud of many of his personality traits, and could rejoice in being known for them and keeping a good reputation.

However, Victor was very aware of a significant flaw he held. 

He could not dance.

It was highly embarrassing, the Lord found, to not be able to move his feet as he wished them to. He repeatedly stumbled, or stepped on his partners toes, making a mess of the whole ordeal. There were just too many dances, and Victor had trouble remembering which steps went with which, and how to move in relation to his partner on the dancefloor.

It was truly a disgrace for a gentleman of such high birth to be cursed with two left feet. 

“My good friend,” Mr. Katsuki said one morning at breakfast, when Victor was loudly complaining about how two left feet. The two had known each other since Oxford, and Mr. Katuski had come to spend a couple of days at Victor’s estate, much to his own joy. Victor may or may not harbour a well guarded deep affection for his friend, which he had hid it very well if he were to say so himself. “Would it be terribly forward of me to ask you- If it would be alright- What I am saying is-”

“Dear friend, please tell me of your plan, I will not offend me,” Victor promised, and Mr. Katsuki let out a sigh, meeting Victor’s gaze with flushed cheeks. His dark eyes sparkled with that determination that always made Victor’s stomach turn on end, and he had to fight the impulse to rush from his seat and fall on his knees, and beg Mr. Katsuki to marry him. 

“Would you like me to give you dancing lessons?” Mr. Katsuki finally asked, and Victor’s eyes grew wide in surprise. Mr. Katuski did not seem to know if the lack of response was a rejection or acceptance, and therefore pushed on. “I know you struggle, but I do find myself a decent dancer, and I would love to- I would love to try my hand at helping you, if I may.”

“Decent,” Victor chuckled and shook his head. “You’re the best dancer in the region.”

“Not at all,” Mr. Katsuki protested, always far too unknowing of his own abilities. “I simply think you could get to a solid knowledge of the most common once, with practice.”

“It might take many lessons,” Victor said, feeling a plan form in his mind. He was selfish, which was another flaw, one the -shire seemed much more unaware of. Clearly, this was an opportunity to get something Victor longed very much for. With more extended time, perhaps he could use that well known charm to make his friend fall in love with him. 

“I admit it might take some time, but I am up for the challenge,” Mr. Katsuki said with a determined nod. Victor imagined himself in Yuuri’s arms, day after day, during dance practice, and could not hold back the smile that curled on his lips. 

“Very well,” Victor said with a nod of his own. “Better send for more of your things then my dear, for it seems this will be your permanent abode for quite some time.”


	2. Mr Katsuki

Victor was far too close to yielding painting this portrait, something he had never done before. He saw himself a skilled painter, and he was known for seeing the most distinct, yet pleasing features of a person, and being able to bring them to life on the canvas. He had spent countless hours just as he was now, with his pen in hand, his pallet before him, and a subject sitting a preferred distance from him, and yet this one stood out. 

Victor had never expected it when he first met him. 

Mr. Katsuki was a man who blended into a crowd, but that came to life the more you looked at him. It had taken Victor a moment to realise it, as he was sketching him out. He had high cheekbones, but soft cheeks, and a slender nose. His jaw was sharp, and his hair was soft where it fell down his forehead. Victor enjoyed looking at him, and found that he did not need to enhance any of Mr. Katsuki’s features, for he was breathtaking just as he was. 

He did not speak much on that first morning, but Victor did not mind too much in the beginning. He needed to concentrate in order to perform his work, and instead he got lost in the slope of Yuuri’s nose or the way his long dark lashes fanned over slightly flushed cheeks. After lunch however, Victor was growing curious of the man, and started asking him questions. 

Mr. Katsuki was like a budding flower, the more attention he received, the more he opened up. Victor was mesmerized by the way he suddenly shifted. The quiet and nervous look disappeared from his eyes, and out came a more alive creature, who pulled Victor in. 

At the end of the day Victor had looked at the sketches he had made, and felt it did not match Mr. Katsuki at all.

The most wonderful, breathtaking, frustrating part of it all, was that it continued to happen. 

Mr. Katsuki had so many faces, and was so filled with expression and form and life, that Victor found he could not create anything with his likeness. There was too much of him to fit a single painting. By the end of the fourth day, Victor sat there with countless sketches, unable to make up his mind on which to actually paint. They were all Yuuri, but how was he to choose?

“Is there something troubling you?” Mr. Katsuki asked, and Victor looked up from where he was kneeling on the floor among the sketches. He had spread them over the floor of the library which had been made into Victor’s temporary studio. Mr. Katsuki approached slowly, and Victor stood as he did, looking away from the scattered pieces of paper on the floor to meet Mr. Katsuki’s dark eyes. 

“Yes, I believe there is,” Victor admitted with a chuckle, and accepted the glass brandy Mr. Katsuki handed him. It was rare for an employer to be so informal, but Victor did not mind. He very much enjoyed the company of Mr. Katsuki, and this was a most pleasant surprise.

Mr. Katsuki looked down on the floor, his eyes roaming over the different versions of his face. 

“There are so many of them,” he said, and Victor looked over his profile, the structure so familiar to Victor now. Still there was always something new there, something that caught Victor by surprise.

Remarkable. 

“Do you often work in this manner?” Yuuri asked, and sipped his own glass. Victor chuckled despite himself, and Mr. Katsuki turned his head to look at him in surprise. 

“No, I do not,” he admitted with a shake of his head, and Mr. Katsuki frowned. “I seem to be having trouble capturing you as I want.”

“Really?” Mr. Katsuki asked. “How so?”

“There is too much to you, you are too intriguing,” Victor admitted, and Mr. Katsuki laughed as he shook his head.

“Oh, you must be the first to even think that. I think most find me terribly ordinary,” he said with a laugh. Victor kept his gaze, feeling his chest flutter with something significant but not yet named. 

“They clearly do not look close enough,” Victor pointed out, and Mr. Katsuki’s brows rose in surprise. 

“What are you to do then?” Mr. Katsuki asked as he looked back at the sketches, and Victor hummed. 

“Perhaps paint them all,” he said mostly as a jest, but Mr. Katsuki hummed and nodded.

“I suppose that is only fair,” he said, turning back to look at Victor. “Since I am being such a difficult subject.”

“I do not think you are difficult,” Victor murmured, taking another sip of his brandy. Mr. Katsuki smirked, and looked back at him. 

“I do not mind,” he said, and Victor felt that flutter in his chest as their eyes caught once more. “Besides, I’m enjoying getting to know you far too much to have you leave yet.”

“Oh,” Victor said, swallowing. He had been enjoying getting to know Mr. Katsuki as well, perhaps more than he had let himself acknowledge. “I suppose I would not mind staying longer, to do even more studies.”

“I am happy to hear it,” Mr Katsuki said, taking a step closer. Victor’s stomach swooped, and he felt his knees go a little weak. Mr. Katsuki clinked their glasses together, and then they both brought them up to take a sip - a silent deal made. 


	3. Ms Katsuki & Ms Crispino

Sara slipped through the doors of the library as quietly as she could, her steps light as she moved across the floor. She had moved over these floors so many times before, but never this early in the morning. It was still dark out, and while it was winter and the sun did not grace them with its presence for long each day, it was long to rise. Sara had woken in her bed, and while the clock showed it to still be the early hours of the morning, had tiptoed over to the window. 

The sight that had greeted her had made her heart swell in her chest, and she had grabbed her robe from the hanger, as well as a candle, and rushed out her bedroom door. She was not sure she would be right in her instinct, but she hoped she would.

She turned around the bookshelves of the library, the single candlelight guiding her, and a wide smile spread on her lips as she saw the woman who owned her heart sitting in one of the bay’s of the windows. Mari’s face was turned towards the garden, and Sara calmed her steps as he approached. She saw a smile curl on Mari’s lips, and she knew she had been noticed.

“Come,” Mari said, turning her face towards her finally, an arm outstretched. “Come look.”

“I saw it,” Sara admitted, placing the candle on a nearby table and hurrying to her side. Mari opened her arms to her, and Sara slipped in between her legs. There was a quilt resting over Mari’s legs, and they shuffled to make sure Sara was under it, before they finally settled close together, and looked out. 

The whole grounds were covered in white frosty snow, illuminating the nature that had been so bare and dark just the evening before. Just as they were going to bed the snow had started falling, and now a tick coat of it was covering everything in sight. It was still snowing heavily, and Sara sighed wistfully. It created a sense of magic in the air, mystical, peaceful and so pretty.

“It is beautiful,” Sara said, and Mari hummed against her hair. They both had always loved snow just as much, ever since they were little. Sara smiled, beside herself with joy. They would be scolded terribly if seen together like this, unmarried and so close, yet Sara could not bring herself to mind. Mari had owned her heart for years now, and Sara was sure she would continue to for many years to come as well. 

Hopefully soon, they would be able to show their love publicly as well. 

“I cannot believe you woke up,” Mari said, and Sara smiled and leaned on her even more. “You are always the last to rise, and here you are before the sun is even up.”

“I had a good reason,” Sara said. She was not sure why she had woken, but she was endlessly glad she had. “I feared we would not get any snow this winter.” 

“I am glad your worry did not come true,” Mari said, her fingers caressing softly over Sara’s hip. “I know how you enjoy it.”

“Do you think the pond has frozen?” Sara asked, unable to mask the excitement in her voice. Mari chuckled, the motion vibrating into Sara’s side. 

“We should send one of the footmen to check once the sun is up,” Mari said, and Sara felt even more excitement rise in her chest. 

“I would so love to go skating,” she said with a sigh, and Mari smiled, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Let us hope it has then,” she said. They fell silent, and simply watched the magical landscape before them. If Sara could spend each and every day like this, she would be the happiest woman on earth. 


	4. Mr. Phichit Chulanont

“Yuuri I come bearing the most glorious news!” Phichit cheered. Yuuri looked up from his paper, without barely raising an eyebrow. This was not an uncommon reaction, for Phichit often stormed into Yuuri’s sitting room in such a manner. His best friend had been the receiver of many of Phichit’s good news as well as the tons’ gossip in a similar manner, and Phichit was therefore not offended for the lack of reaction. “I am to have my photo taken! My new beau is a photographer and he has just written and asked if I would sit for him.”

“You are aware that you need to sit still for fifteen minutes my friend?” Yuuri asked, putting his paper down on the table with an amused expression on his face. Phichit frowned, and easily threw himself down into the chair opposite him.

“What on earth are you speaking off?” he asked, his brows furrowing. “I was told it was done in a jiffy.”

“It depends on what you compare it to, I suppose,” Yuuri mused, bringing his cup up to his mouth to take a sip. “For a photograph you need to sit perfectly still for fifteen minutes. I have never seen you sit still for more than thirty seconds before. How on earth will you be still for a quarter of an hour?”

“This is terribly inconvenient. Though I suppose it is better than sitting for days for a portrait,” Phichit considered. He had barely any portraits painted of himself, for he found it excruciating to sit for them. Positively horrid really. “You shall have to come up with a solution with me dear friend, for I desperately must have my photo taken! It would be such a treat!”

“I suppose you will have to think of something that can make you sit still for more than a moment,” Yuuri teased, and Phichit sighed, realising he would find no comfort from his friend on this predicament. He sat in silence for a moment, pondering the best course of actions. Suddenly, he remembered a photo he had seen not long ago, which put more hope in his heart. He was a great fan of the author after all, and would be a great deal pleased to reference him. 

“Oh, Yuuri, did you see that photo of Mr. Charles Dickens? The one where he sits backwards?” he exclaimed. Yuuri’s brows did rise this time, but still he shook his head. Phichit was feeling filled with energy once more, and leaned forward. 

“I fear I have not,” Yuuri admitted. “Backwards? You will draw attention to yourself, referencing someone so famous.”

“You forget, I have never been scared of attention my dear friend,” Phichit said with a wide grin, his mind prompt made up. Surely, being able to sit and hang on the backrest of the chair would be much more comfortable. He would also have the added incentive of mischief to motivate him to sit still now. To think how funny it would be if anyone saw the photo, and noticed the reference. Phichit had to do it! There was no other choice. 

“Very true,” Yuuri agreed with a smile. Phichit grinned ever wider, for even if Yuuri did not seem to want to endorse the idea, he did not resent it either. This led Phichit to the conclusion that it could not be too bad of an idea. 

“Mark my words Yuuri, this shall be glorious,” he promised proudly, and Yuuri shook his head and picked up his cup once more.

“When it comes to you, I have no doubt.”

____________________________________

Mr. Giacometti was more charming than was good for Phichit’s heart in the short run, but perhaps terrific in the long one if Phichit played his cards right. It had been a very long time since he had felt such attachment to someone on a romantic level, and was joyous to know Mr. Giacometti shared this sentiment. No love declarations had been made verbally yet, but Phichit had high hopes for one being delivered soon. What else cried love declaration, such as the photographer wanting to incorporate his object of affection in his art?

Phichit smirked as he stepped into the set of the photoshoot, and promptly turned the chair around. Mr. Giacometti’s eyes grew wide as Phichit sat down, but clearly he thought it but a ruse.

“You are such a mischievous thing,” Mr. Giacometti said warmly, taking a step towards his camera as he glanced at Phichit. “Come now, sit proper.” 

“Oh darling you shall learn that I am terrible at being proper,” Phichit said with a grin, shuffling in his seat just a little to find a comfortable spot. “I am perfectly content sitting in his manner.”

Mr. Giacometti seemed to consider this for a moment, but then nodded his head in agreement. “Very well then. I shall take your manners into consideration going forward,” he said, a wide grin spreading on his lips. He was terribly handsome. Phichit was incredibly fond of him. “Are you sure about this pose? You shall have to sit for a long time.”

“I am certain, I had a good reference for it,” Phichit promised, feeling his lips spread into a wide smile to match Mr. Giacometti’s own.

“Alright, sit still beautiful,” Mr. Giacometti urged, and Phichit chuckled. 

“I shall do my best but I make no promises,” he said, winking. Mr. Giacometti chuckled, deep and low. It made a shiver race down Phichit’s spine, and held back a smirk, just as the camera went off.


	5. Mrs. Okukawa

The pen moved gracefully over the sheet of paper, the ink swirling in an unfamiliar handwriting. She had spent a long time practicing how to form the letters so it would look nothing like her own way of writing, just to make sure no one would recognize it. It was a necessary precaution after all, but one that she found wonderfully fun. It felt like she was part of a grand scheme, created by her hands and her mind, for no one else to know. 

She had always been observant, whatever others may say of her. She knew where to look, to see what all else missed. To focus to the side of commotion in a crowded room, and spot what laid hidden in plain sight. She had always done it, ever since she was a little girl. Never had she thought it would come to use in this matter, but she would not complain, for she was most amused by it.

The events of last night’s ball from her view formed on the paper, neatly but sharp. She chose her words well, to create the grandest of impact on the crowd she knew hungered for this very information. The need for it had ignited with such little effort, already from the first public letter she had written under her pen name and distributed. It spread like wildfire through society, raging havoc on those who were most terrified of getting burned. 

Perhaps she should feel remorse for what she was causing, but she could not find it in herself to do so. She was only showing what was lingering in the dark. None were spared from her piercing glance, her sharp words reaching deep into the palace sitting rooms as well as the gentry dining tables equally. Perhaps she even helped some on their way. 

She put a dot at the end of the final parts of her newest letter, deeming it done. At the end of it she proclaimed that if young Mr. Katsuki did not want to see his reputation sollied, perhaps he should stop sneaking into dark pathways with a certain Duke. Hopefully that would get Lord Nikiforov to propose with the next coming days. Heaven knew she was doing her best to speed those two fools along, and her patients were running thin.

The ink dried in the warmth from the sun kissed window, and she carefully folded it together before slipping it into an envelope, sealing it with vax. She would have to go down to the foyer, to grab a footman and see to that he made haste in delivering it. 

She did not want to keep her readers waiting after all. 

“Darling,” her dear husband called, and Minako turned from her ink and paper as he stepped into the study. Celestino was the loveliest type of husband. Loving, kind, passionate, and never too nosy. Minako had realised he was perfect from the second dance they shared the season she had come out. Assuring he would propose took almost no time at all. “Could I trouble you to join your poor lonely husband for tea in the drawing room? I miss you so terribly.”

“Of course love,” she said, picking up the envelope with a flourish. “Are you done with the books for the day already?” Celestino reached her finally, and Mianko smiled as he pressed his lips to her cheek. She loved him dearly.

“No, but they can wait. What is it that you have there?” he asked, and Minako glanced down to her hand, glad she had grabbed the whole stack of correspondence so her most secret one would stay hidden.

“Nothing in particular,” she said, taking his arm. “Just some correspondence to send out, to Lady Katsuki and Lady Baranovskaya, as well as your mother.”

“You have kept as busy as I, I see,” Celestion said as he let her out into the corridor towards her favorite sitting room as she hummed in answer. “There does not seem to be any new publication from that Lady Benois yet today,” Celestino commented, and Minako felt a thrill race up her spine. “Shame, I would have loved to discuss it with you over tea.”

“We shall have to do so later then,” Minako vowed, a smile spreading on her lips.

She wondered endlessly what trouble she might be stirring up today. 


	6. Mr. Plisetsky & Mr. Altin

Yuri bit back the sigh that was dancing at the back of his throat with roughly clenched jaws, as he kept his eyes on the ballroom floor. He had never been much for dancing or balls, and tonight's events had only deepened the despise he felt towards gatherings such as this. How ever had this come to be? However had Yuri gone from perfectly content with his situation, to completely enraged and wounded, from merely one visit from one cousin.

It was wretched. 

It could only be the trick of fate that had placed Yuri in this predicament, for he refused to blame himself for this turn of events he was now facing. He was, and in his own mind rightfully so, blaming his cousin Mila. It was clear she was the perpetrator of this matter and all and all the one who had deemed it so that Yuri would spiral into this pit of despair and rage.

Yes, perhaps it was better to blame his not so dear cousin for this situation in which he himself found himself in, and not fate. Perhaps it was cruel to place blame on something so fickle, when clearly this was a grandly planned scheme, which Yuri seemed to be able to have no weapons against. 

He simply had to stand there and watch, as Mila clung to Otabek’s embrace.

Awful. 

She had come in just four days ago, and turned Yuri’s complete existence on end. She flirted shamelessly on his best friend Otabek, her lashes fluttering, her cheeks flushed, her hand landing oh so delicately on his arm as he spoke. Yuri felt sickened by it. His heart throbed and ached and it had been then, then for the very first time, that he had realised that Otabek was no longer only a friend.

He owned Yuri’s heart.

And now he had to watch him be flirted with by someone else. 

How horridly comically awful. 

Otabek was currently moving Mila around the dance floor, the impossibly long set surely soon drawing to an end. Yuri was endlessly sick of watching them at the very least, and truly, it would be better if he were just to leave. He was bound to break something if he did not excuse himself from this gathering. Perhaps he should go home, and toss things into the fire and watch them burn.

Yes, that would make him feel a whole lot better he assumed.

Yuri pushed off the wall and headed for the door, but then the set truly did come to an end. Yuri glanced back from the opening, unwillingly, towards Otabek and Mila. White hot rage raced up his chest as he saw her leaning in closer, her gloved hand on Otabek’s jaw.

Was there no decency left in the world?

Yuri turned around swiftly, barely aware that he made the decision to reenter the room before he found himself standing before Otabek and Mila, fuming with rage. 

“Cousin Yuri were we not dashing on the dance floor?” Mila asked in her chippery voice, but Yuri could not look at her out of fear he would not be able to control his temper. His eyes were instead on Otabek, who looked at him with raised brows.

“Yura, is something the matter?” Otabek asked in that calm, horribly charming way. How had Yuri not realised it before? 

How could he not have noticed that he had fallen in love with his best friend?

“Dance with me,” Yuri said with determination, and saw Otabek’s eyes grow wide. He knew what was coming before the words left Otabek’s mouth, and he knew they were true. Still, he could not stand idly by and not do  _ something _ .

“You do not dance, you never dance,” Otabek pointed out, and Yuri squirmed. 

“I am tonight,” he said, squaring his shoulders and keeping Otabek’s gaze. “What will it be?”

“Of course I will,” Otabek said, and offered his arm. Yuri took it without sparing a single glance towards his cousin, and then followed Otabek out on the floor.

Perhaps, all was not lost after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://yoiregencyweek.tumblr.com/)   
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/YOIRegencyWeek)   
> [prompt poll](https://forms.gle/hKo1tKQnknfhZirc7). It's open till 1st of March.


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